Believe In Us
by vld-ml-atla
Summary: Chlonath Week 2k17. Most of the stories won't be connected; I'll tell you if they are.
1. Chapter 1: Decade

It had been ten years since the end of school, ten years since classmates all went their separate ways, ten years since he'd seen Chloe.

Ten years too short.

It was a fine, lovely day when Nathanael ran out of paint supplies. He had been meaning to get them before—he always kept extra supplies stocked in some far corner of his studio apartment—but for some reason, he didn't have any yellow paint.

He considered going without it, but the masterpiece in his head refused to let it go.

Once he'd spread all the boxes in his apartment out on the floor and dug through each one—the ones where it should have been and the ones where it should not have been—he finally gave up on the yellow paint.

 _It's not in here, Nath._ _Just go get some more. It's not even that far to the Art Shoppe._

But he was oddly reluctant to go.

He didn't know whether it was just the fact that he happened to forget to restock or if it was something else—some premonition of sorts.

Nathanael wasn't very superstitious, he just always had his head in the clouds.

He finally picked himself off the floor, grabbing his jacket and keys, then locking the door behind him as he left.

He didn't like this. He didn't know why, but he didn't like this.

When he reached his favorite art supply store, the Art Shoppe, just a block from his apartment, he ran into fear itself—literally.

Chloe stood face to face with him, her sweater soaked in the coffee she had been holding seconds before, a look of pure anger on her face. When she looked up at him, his heart froze. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. Somehow he'd known he'd end up regretting leaving his apartment.

"Nathanael," she ground out through clenched teeth. "I guess I'm not surprised it's you. You always were incompetent."

"I'm so sorry, Chloe," he said with no more oomph than he felt. "I really didn't mean to. I should have been watching where I was going."

In truth, he had been watching very painfully, taking in every detail of the world around him, waiting for something dreaded to pop up, wrap itself around his ankles, and pull him down into the earth. It was only when he'd decided to stop freaking out over nothing that he'd closed his eyes briefly to take a deep breath and try to tame the wild beating of his heart.

"You think?" she snorted. She shed the dripping sweater, fingering the spots of coffee that had soaked through onto her blouse underneath. "You know," she mused, an unsatisfied look on her face. "I miss moments like this more than anything."

He knew it was sarcastic, but he didn't bother repaying the favor. "I can pay for any damage done," Nathanael offered, though he knew he had no money and no desire to repair her sweater.

"Don't bother," she said, waving a hand in the air. "I didn't like it all that much. And now I'm remembering why I didn't like you all that much."

He hadn't liked her either, but what could he say to that? He wasn't brave enough to lie and he wasn't bold enough for the truth. He'd have to settle for something else.

"If you're sure I can't fix it…?"

"You? Fix this?" She snorted again. "Go ahead, but I don't want it back." She tossed the sweater at him then stepped around him. "You have no idea how happy I am to say goodbye to you." But he couldn't tell if she was talking to him or the sweater. It didn't matter; she was gone, disappearing around the corner at the end of the block.

 _Weird. Whatever_ that _was._

He draped the sweater over his arm—what was _he_ supposed to do with it?—and pulled the shop's door open, hearing the clink as the bell above the door shook. The shop owner smiled as he entered, then gave him a strange look at the yellow women's sweater he had on his arm. He smiled sheepishly in return.

He bought the yellow paint—two tubes, just in case—then left the Art Shoppe and started for home, sliding Chloe's sweater into the tote bag with the paint.

When he reached his apartment building, Nathanael climbed the stairs two at a time, ready to be back in a safe place with no chance of running into Chloe. He unlocked the door, letting the bag drop to the floor at his side, and pulled off his jacket.

Once he'd readied his easel, he reached for the tote bag. The smell of Chloe's bitter black coffee wafted through the air as he set her sweater aside. _She likes her coffee like she likes her attitude_ , he thought when the paint smelled like her too. _As black as can be._

He set the paint near his easel, idly wondering if there was some way to remove her smell from it or if she'd always be there with him as he painted. He reached into a drawer to find the other colors he'd need and instead found a bottle of bright yellow shining up at him.

 _Where were_ you _thirty minutes ago?_

He picked out the colors he'd need and returned to his easel. He'd use his new yellow paint for this one. Because he wasn't going to paint the masterpiece he'd had in his head an hour ago. He was going to paint Chloe.

Because now all those years seemed too long.


	2. Chapter 2: A Third Opinion

There are some people that just do not get along. Chloe and Nathanael are two of these people.

They're oil and water, polar opposites—honey and tomatoes.

—

Today was just like any other day. That is, except for the partner project Miss Bustier had given the class.

Usually Chloe wouldn't have cared—she didn't have time to care; that was Sabrina's job. But, conveniently, Sabrina seemed to be missing today, which meant Chloe would have to work with one of the other losers in the class.

The teacher always assigned partners, but when it came to Chloe, she spared everyone else the pain of having to work with her, since Sabrina seemed to enjoy it. Chloe knew that everyone hated to work with her, and she couldn't care less. In fact, it gave her pleasure knowing she scared her classmates—it meant she had control over something. And Chloe didn't want to work with any of them anyone.

But Sabrina was gone—how could she just leave Chloe like that?—so Chloe would have to make do.

Nathanael's usual partner happened to be gone that day too, which meant he was stuck with Chloe. _At least it's not Marinette_ , Chloe told herself, even though she preferred—and even argued—to be with Adrien because she deserved to be. They had been friends forever, after all.

 _This is completely unfair_ , she concluded as she approached the table Nathanael was sitting at. When he didn't bother to look up, she dropped her books on the table rather loudly and cleared her throat. "I assume you don't know how this works, so I'll explain it to you as simply as my superior mind can." She sighed. She really did hate people. "You'll do all the work and I'll present, that is, if you're competent enough to even know anything about English."

Nathanael blinked, apparently uninclined to respond, then returned his gaze to the sketchbook in front of him.

"Did you hear me?"

"I think everyone heard you."

"So? What do you have to say?" she snapped. _Really, does everyone have to be_ so _stupid? Nathanael is always in his head. You'd think he'd be smarter._

He sighed, leaning back once more and looking up at her. "I do my best work at home when I'm alone, so I'll do the project there if you don't mind."

Dumbfounded and not liking it, Chloe humphed and sat down next to him, grateful when he scooted his chair farther away from hers. "Whatever."

—

When the bell that signaled the end of class rang, Nathanael watched as Chloe quickly pushed back her chair and made a beeline for the door, trying to put as much distance as she could between them.

Not that he minded.

He slowly began to collect his drawing pencils, placing them in their case and zipping it up. From the corner of his eye, he could see Adrien approaching. Nathanael gathered up his books and pencil case and dumped them in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and standing up just as Adrien reached his table.

Why the kid suddenly cared about him, Nathanael didn't know. Adrien had never really talked to him before, never really cared. He was just a stuck-up, rich kid like Chloe.

Adrien smiled. "Hey, Nathanael."

He nodded in reply. _Make it quick, make it quick._

"I can try to convince the teacher to give you a different partner, if you'd like."

Nathanael frowned. Where was this coming from? "Why would you do that?"

Adrien lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Chloe's not the easiest person to get along with. I just thought you might not want to be her partner."

"It's fine," Nathanael lied. It really wasn't, but he didn't have any reason to think Adrien was that nice of a guy. And he didn't want to be owing him any favors either. "I really don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"Alright," Adrien said, though he looked wary. He started to turn away, but paused, looking back over his shoulder. "It's kinda ironic, don't you think? Chloe's got the honey-colored hair, but you're sweeter, and you have tomato-colored hair, but she's the acquired taste." He shrugged. "Just a thought."

But it wasn't just a thought. What had made Adrien think of that?

And why did it bother Nathanael so much?


	3. Chapter 3: Strength

Everyone's skilled in an art of some kind. Whether that's the art of being awkward—Marinette, the art of being handsome—Adrien, or actual art—Nathanael, it doesn't matter, because everyone's skilled in an art of some kind.

People often believed Chloe's art was being rude, and while she was exceedingly good at it, it wasn't her art.

Chloe's art was being strong.

She'd had to be strong when her father became the mayor. She'd had to be strong when everyone's eyes followed her wherever she went. And she'd had to be strong when her mother left.

Chloe had gotten quite good at her art, but she kept it secret. She told no one—not her classmates, not her best friend Sabrina, not even her father—in case one of them might somehow take that strength from her.

She had learned not to trust anyone.

Which made her generally unhappy, but it kept her from hurting more than she was now—more than she could handle.

She could deal with the mundane, menial pains—things like school or being the mayor's daughter—but the big ones—her mother—nearly killed her.

Of the mundane pains, class with Adrien was always the most agonizing for Chloe. Sure, she absolutely adored him and loved watching him think, but he always brushed her off in the most polite ways possible and she wanted for once to see him fight back. She wanted him to stand up to her and tell her to back off already. She wanted to see her own strength reflected in him. That would really sell her on her feelings for him.

And it did _not_ help that she was in the perfect—er, least perfect—position to see Marinette practically drooling as she watched the back of Adrien's head. It made Chloe want to barf.

She wasn't one to get jealous; she was better than any person in any given place at any given time, and everyone knew it. She knew it was completely irrational to hate Marinette and her stupid face. She also knew focusing on it would only antagonize her agony over Adrien, but she couldn't help the fact that everyone loved Marinette just as much as—dare she even think it, more than—her.

Marinette was sweet and adorable and Chloe couldn't deny it. Sure, the dork was the clumsiest person she'd ever met, but it somehow added to the cute air about her.

It made Chloe hate herself and everyone else even more.

She'd had to climb and kill her way to the top of the totem pole and there Marinette was just accidentally falling upwards as she tripped over absolutely nothing.

Even Adrien thought she was cool enough to hang out with.

But Chloe couldn't stand the way Marinette was so perfectly awkward and endearingly anxious. It reminded her of how much she wanted to be like that—how much she wanted to _be able_ to be like that.

Everyone always went to Marinette with their problems, and while Chloe couldn't care less about her classmates, she wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of a single person who wanted her because of who she was. Sabrina wanted her for her popularity and her father had always wanted her to be the perfect little—compliant—girl. No one cared about who she really was.

Her mother certainly hadn't. Her mother hadn't wanted her one bit.

Chloe had tried to be the perfect little girl—tried really hard, actually—but no matter how hard she tried, she'd never been good enough. So she adapted. She discovered how to truly get what she wanted from anyone.

The first problem was that it hadn't worked for her mother—had quite literally driven her away. The second problem was now she didn't know if she truly wanted to be this way anymore.

She didn't deserve to get what she wanted.

So as she dreaded attending class with the flawlessly handsome model and his grossly head-over-heels-in-love fangirl, she entered the classroom, bumping into a slightly taller unimportant mound of flesh.

"Excuse you!" she screeched, really not ready for interaction of any kind.

"Oh!" It was Nathanael. He crouched down to collect his things that had dropped before standing up again. "Sorry." But he didn't sound sorry at all.

"What is _this_?" She reached for the sketchbook Nathanael was trying to hide from her. She scoffed when she saw the familiar face on the page. "You're drawing _her_ again?"

"Well...Marinette is so sweet and it's really quite easy to draw her."

"Why don't you draw someone who will actually make you look like a good artist—someone beautiful like me?" She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.

Nathanael's eyes were wider than any moon she'd ever seen. "O-okay," he mumbled.

"What?"

He squared his shoulders. "I'll draw you." He bit his lip for a split second before continuing. "If that's what you want."

He was actually offering to draw her. Chloe had spent her whole life living in the spotlight and being the best, but for some reason, she was only now feeling special—truly, unequivocally wanted.

"I'd want you to pose for me, of course," he continued quickly when she didn't respond. "That should only take an hour or two of your time at the most."

"Two hours?" She could hear the annoyance in her voice, but she didn't feel it. In fact, she was completely void of emotion, numb to everything but the fact that Nathanael, the quiet, reserved, red-headed sketch artist, wanted her to pose for him.

"At most," he reaffirmed, though the strange look in his eyes left her wondering if that's really what he wanted—two hours alone with her. "But I only draw people as they naturally are. That means no makeup, no overly-styled hair, and no dressing like you're the queen of the world."

Had anyone taken interest in her other than for her looks and popularity? Had anyone ever truly cared for the person she was beneath all that?

Maybe her mother had once, but if she could see her now, Chloe knew she'd be disappointed. She'd love her no more and no less—but Chloe didn't think it was possible to love anyone less than how much her mother loved her.

Yet here Nathanael was, picking at the threads of her tightly knotted heart, untangling her right here and now in front of the growing class.

How ironic that someone she'd been so rude to, someone she'd hated so much, was able to squeeze into the cracks she didn't know about in the wall she'd built.

She wanted to laugh. She didn't.

Suddenly quiet, reserved, Nathanael was telling her what to do without hesitation or palpitations.

All she wanted to do was agree.

"Alright." And before she could stop herself, she added, "It'll be a great honor for you, so you better appreciate me wasting my time."

He nodded, unfazed. "Of course. I'll make it worth your time."

"You better." And with a final huff, she turned to flee before she could agree to any more outlandish ideas.

She spent the entire class conscious of Nathanael's eyes on her.

Why she had agreed she didn't know. But she couldn't help thinking that it may have been the fact she couldn't come up with a better way to waste her time than to waste it for him.

Adrien was suddenly just another boy.

—

Nathanael held the sketchbook away from himself to get a different perspective, finally allowing Chloe to tilt her head to look at it. "I think you're my favorite," he mumbled absently, and Chloe wondered if he even meant to say it, if she was meant to hear it.

She wanted to. She wanted him to say it again. "What?"

Nathanael looked up briefly, his cheeks the color of his hair. She had heard too much, but he couldn't back down now. "Out of all my work, your portrait is the one I would go into a burning building to save."

She returned her eyes to the ones staring back at her. The portrait Nathanael had drawn of her was quite realistic, and though she didn't look much different than she usually did, there was something about the way Nathanael had drawn her that made her seem so much...better...than the person she really was. He did always seem to bring out the best in her.

She frowned.

Had the portrait been any less realistic, Chloe might have chalked up the marvelous nature of it to Nathanael's art style or him trying to make up for taking her time. But since it was extremely lifelike, Chloe couldn't help but wonder if that was really how he saw her.

"You'd go into a burning building for _that_?" She scoffed. "I wouldn't." And it was the truth. It wasn't that she didn't like his art—he had drawn her quite fantastically—it was just that he had drawn _her_. She wasn't worth being saved. Not by Nathanael, who was sweet and shy and everything right with the world.

She didn't think she was worth being saved by herself either. It's why she couldn't pull herself out of this deep, dark hole she'd dug. It's why she couldn't be the person Nathanael saw in her, the person he drew.

It's why she couldn't be _with_ him.

"Well, I would," Nathanael replied firmly, pulling her from her trance. "It's my finest piece. I wouldn't sell it for a hundred million dollars." His voice was thick, something hard stuck in his throat, and it made Chloe move her eyes from her graphite face to the very real, very quiet being beside her.

He had also moved his eyes from the drawing and was now using them to search her own, making her next words—"It's just a sketch"—die before they could leave her mouth.

She absently wondered if he could see through her right then. She knew if he tried hard enough, asked the right questions, she'd let him break down the wall around her heart. So she wondered if he could see it in her eyes—the willingness to be free from her self-inflicted strength which only seemed to weigh her down—but she didn't try to erase the pleading from her features.

She relaxed and let him see her for all she really was—weak, fragile, broken.

His breath caught in his throat and she closed her eyes, turning her face from him to the fading sun on the horizon. She listened to him breathe, waiting—wondering—wishing.

Would he comfort her? take her in his arms? stay with her until the sun rose again?

Would he even speak?

She cautiously opened one eye, peeking at him in her peripheral.

He had returned his attention to his sketchbook, his pencil moving across the page with lightning speed.

Chloe moved to get a better look, but he tilted it away from her. "Not yet. Let me finish."

Annoyed, she removed her hand from his arm—when had it gotten there?—and turned back to the sky.

"A little higher," he urged.

"Hmm?"

"Your chin." He lifted his hand to gently tilt her head back, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing her chin. "And close your eyes again."

He was drawing her again. For some reason, she hadn't considered this as a possibility. She hadn't thought he'd want to.

She surrendered to his will and her eyelids slid shut, suddenly heavy.

"Stay still," he whispered to her through the night, and she hummed in submission.

She felt the wind in her hair, tangling it around her face and tickling her lips. She reached up to tuck it back behind her ear, but Nathanael grasped her wrist, staying the motion.

"Leave it."

The huskiness in his voice gave her no choice in the matter.

With the wind in her hair and on her face, with the scattered sound of pencil brushing paper, with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears, Chloe stayed still until she dozed off.


	4. Chapter 4: Believe In You

**AN: Volpina is Fox!Alya-I couldn't come up with a better name for her. This piece can be a continuation of last chapter, but I didn't initially intend for that to happen.**

Nathanael's life had always been simple. He woke up, went to school, drew, and repeated. It was the norm for years. And when he'd met Chloe, his schedule shifted slightly to allow her time to berate and embarrass him.

He didn't mind that much.

He could deal with being criticized—as an artist, he'd learned how to take it pretty well—and most of what she said was already going through his head on a daily basis.

He just wished it didn't draw so much attention to him.

But of course, it did. And it made him so angry with Chloe.

—

Nathanael's pencil glided over the paper as if it had a mind of its own, and before he knew it, he had doodled his savior in the corner of his mathematics assignment.

Ever since Queen Bee had saved him, he couldn't get her out of his mind, just as he'd predicted. Perhaps it was just gratitude for saving his life, but Nathanael wondered if it might be more. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he already knew her—already felt some thin but unbreakable cord connecting them even then over however many miles separated them.

 _Oh please Nath_ , he said to himself, _You're an artist, not a poet_.

He was already reliving the moment in his head.

—

Nathanael didn't know how it started. All he remembered was being the Evillustrator, hurting so many people, and one of the new heroes, Queen Bee.

She had been given the job of talking him down and distracting him. This gave him some pause. He didn't know this new person. He had no idea what she was like or what she could do. How could Ladybug and Chat Noir trust her already?

"Your name is Nathanael," she called to him. It wasn't a question.

"You're wrong," he replied. "I'm Evillustrator and I'm going to draw things the way I want them—without _Chloe_." He infused as much venom as he could into her name. He hated her. He didn't know why, but he did.

He watched Queen Bee's face contort into a grimace, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "What did she do to you?" Her expression seemed pained as she approached him cautiously, but he didn't fight her—something in him told him not to fight her, despite Hawkmoth's voice in his ear urging him to do so.

"I-" What _had_ she done to him? How could he not remember? "I don't know."

She tilted her head for a moment, thinking about something, but he didn't wait for her to reply.

"Can you help me?"

This seemed to revive her, hope replacing the pain in her features. She blinked wide blue eyes at him. "Of course."

"I've always wondered…"

"Yes?"

"...what would happen if I erased some _one_."

Her light blue eyes got wider somehow with the realization of what his words meant—what it meant for her.

But she didn't run. She didn't even try.

She just watched as he removed his tablet from his pocket and flipped the pen around to erase her. It had always intrigued him how the logistics of that worked. Would Queen Bee still exist if Ladybug defeated him, threw her lucky charm in the air, and watched her magic return Paris to its proper state? And if she was still there after Ladybug took him down, would she hate him too?

But he would have to keep wondering.

Before he could erase this new hero, the pen was knocked from his hand and broken, shattered with the growing need to eliminate the very person trying to help him.

Nathanael could feel himself returning to normal, his mind clearing, and Queen Bee ran to help him stand—had he fallen out of exhaustion or fear of what he was about to do, what he would have done?

He looked up at her relieved face, her relieved eyes—he knew he'd never forget them.

—

He watched Chloe stalk into the room, a glare fixed in her eyes. It wasn't directed at anyone in particular, but it was challenging and lethal nonetheless.

She looked up at him, her glare softening before she looked away again. For a split second, those eyes looked like another person's, though he had seen them—and even drawn them—a million times before. While he thought it was impossible, he knew exactly where he had seen those particular wide blue eyes before.

As class began—which he barely noticed—he compared the similarities and differences between Queen Bee and Chloe in his head so no one could find his wandering thoughts. He didn't dare write them down—he had already ruined a corner of his mathematics assignment; he didn't even dare hold his pencil in case his mind wandered too deep again.

Despite their many similarities, including the colors they chose to wear, it all boiled down to whether Chloe would really risk her life for people she probably didn't care about.

Nathanael didn't think she was purposely cold-hearted, but he couldn't believe she'd go out of her way to help people she didn't know or like. Queen Bee could be trusted; he still had his doubts about Chloe.

No, there was no way Chloe could be Queen Bee.

Besides, Chloe was obsessed with Ladybug, and she and Queen Bee had an unspoken rivalry between them. It had always been about who was the better superhero, but Nathanael hadn't really cared…

...until Queen Bee brought him back from insanity.

Now he couldn't get her out of his mind and it was driving him crazy. And yet he didn't mind daydreaming about her all day. She was something new, something different from Marinette.

It wasn't that he didn't like Marinette, because he did; she was really sweet and kind. But Queen Bee was strong and decisive and actually seemed to care about him no matter how crazy or impossible that seemed.

Marinette was obviously in love with Adrien, and if that didn't work out, love wasn't real, so Nathanael had decided he'd get over Marinette. And it was going really well.

Then he'd met Queen Bee and for some reason Marinette just flew from his mind like a dream long forgotten and never to be remembered.

Then class was over, passing so quickly since Nathanael's head was in the clouds and he was wishing for a chance to see her again.

—

Nathanael raced down the street, trying to get closer to the akuma victim. When he'd heard word of another akuma attack, he'd left the school as soon as he could in hopes of seeing Queen Bee again. Sure enough, all four superheroes could be seen swinging around and fighting the attack a block away.

A crowd had built up around them, and when he'd finally pushed his way through the masses—something the shy part of him had never even thought of doing before—the fight was coming to a close. He couldn't hear it, but he watched as Ladybug threw her lucky charm in the air and her magic fixed everything that had broken during the fight.

The heroes began to separate, Ladybug and Volpina heading to answer questions from the crowd while Chat Noir and Queen Bee ran off towards home.

Nathanael followed her the best he could, running into more people than there even were in Paris.

Queen Bee dropped into an alley, the yellow on her suit reflecting the last rays of the dying sun, and Nathanael's shoulder met with a boy his height— _seriously_ , where were these people coming from?

The boy turned to apologize, then seemed to recognize him. "Nathanael?"

He turned, more out of duty than desire. "Adrien. I'm sorry for bumping into you, but I'm actually in a hurry."

"Oh no problem. I wasn't really looking where I was going, to be completely honest, so don't worry about it. I'll see you around."

Nathanael watched an anxious Adrien continue down the street and turn the corner before turning back towards Queen Bee, wherever she was now.

He turned into the alleyway in time to see a flash of bright yellow light. When the light faded, he couldn't see anything—it was dark and he was practically blind from the flash—but he heard her breathing. Somehow he knew it was hers—there was no doubt that something else was in the alley with him. No, the rhythm of her unsure breaths confirmed this.

He had cornered her, he realized suddenly. He had caught her in the worst moment possible and now he was so tongue tied he couldn't even apologize. He was so frozen in place—wanting to stay and see her, talk to her, and wanting to fulfill her unspoken wish that he leave—that he couldn't do anything.

She finally stepped forward out of the shadows and into the light streaming from a nearby street lamp. "Nathanael?"

His breath caught in his throat when he saw her standing there, so helpless and tired; he really could not have picked a worse time to talk to her again.

But that didn't matter. Because he had been wrong.

He'd been wrong about who he thought she really was—both sides of her—and he felt guilty for assuming the worst and best of her simultaneously.

How had he ever been angry with her? How had he not trusted her?

She took another weary step forward. "What do you want?" she snapped, but it wasn't as forceful as usual. He couldn't tell if it was from her lack of energy or because it was him standing in front of her, seeing her as she truly was.

"I-" What _did_ he want? Nathanael didn't know for sure, but he didn't want her to leave him here, and he didn't want to leave her either, so he'd have to keep her talking. "I thought it was you," he lied.

She scoffed, but it came out more as a moan; it was weakened by her emotional and physical conditions. "You didn't say anything."

"Why would I? I don't want to expose you."

"You don't?"

"No." He knew he should have asked her a question or made more of an effort to keep the conversation going, but he wanted her to understand that he didn't want to hurt her—she was already hurting so much. "No."

She frowned slowly, judging his words, and he didn't know what to do. Should he just stand there and await his punishment? Or should he plead his case—innocent—even if it was half lies?

She stepped forward again, but she was looking past him, heading past him. "I've got to get home before my dad organizes a search party for me."

He exhaled more breath than he felt he had in him. "Right," he agreed reluctantly.

She was moving again, more steadily this time, and he rotated to give her space; he knew he was the last person she wanted to see or talk to, so he pushed his own desires back down his throat. He'd let her process it, and maybe it'd finally kick in for him too.

When she reached the end of the alley, she made the briefest of pauses, and he took it as a sign. "I'm sorry," he called, and she stopped again to hear him out, but she didn't turn. "I didn't want this. Not for you."

He waited for a reply, or maybe just a look, but she stood still a moment before disappearing down the street.

Nathanael walked home with his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows pulled together.

 _Stupid stupid stupid stupid_. Each time he thought the word, he used different intonation and emphasis hoping he might actually hold on to one of them for future reference. _Stupid stupid_.

He couldn't see her again. Not as Queen Bee and _not_ as Chloe.

Not because he'd figured out it was her. Not because she hated him for it. Not even because he was scared of her—he had to admit he was a little.

It was because _he_ didn't want to end up scaring _her_.

He didn't want to do something so big and final that it'd end up pushing her away. So he'd push her away, dreaming she'd come back to him, praying she'd actually want to. It was her decision now.

Rain started to fall and he turned his face towards the sky, letting it drop onto his closed eyelids and slide down his cheeks without any interference.

He'd let it pass by, but if it clung, he wouldn't wipe it away.

It was so beautiful, and he knew he should have gotten out of it before he got sick, but he walked in the rain—all the way home—not changing out of his wet clothes before he plopped down on his bed.

His idle eyes found his sketchbook.

He couldn't draw her anymore, he knew that much. It would be too painful to try to form her completely in his mind. It would be too painful to erase the lines of her face and make himself remember that he almost made her disappear—that he _actually_ had made her disappear. It would be too painful to redraw the curves to make her look like her—make her perfect.

It would just be too painful to stare at her everyday.

No. He'd avoid her at all costs. To keep himself sane. But mostly to keep her sane. Because he wanted her happy, even if that meant she hated him.

Because he loved her.


	5. Chapter 5: Believe In Me

**AN: This is a continuation of the last chapter. Again, Fox!Alya is Volpina for lack of a better term.**

The next time Nathanael saw Chloe outside of school, she was Queen Bee.

There had been an akuma attack, and Nathanael had unknowingly walked right into it. Again.

 _I've really gotta start following these things better_ , he thought. _Or not following, I guess_.

She paused briefly when she saw him, her eyes flashing with...well, he wasn't sure, then she kept fighting the akumatized person on her own. Where were Ladybug and Chat Noir? Where was Volpina?

Nathanael was caged and trapped along with twenty other civilians, his only hope Queen Bee. He knew she'd save him—er, them. It wasn't a matter of whether she could, but rather whether she wanted to.

But she did. She took down the akuma victim, Ladybug arriving in time to break the object with the akuma and purify the black butterfly.

The cage door opened, Queen Bee on the other side, refusing to look at him. When the rest had cleared out and it was just the two of them standing in the cramped cage, concealed from the rest of the world, he spoke.

"Thanks," he mumbled, but he couldn't walk away. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself to move.

Because he wanted to see her. Didn't he deserve to be happy too?

 _No Nath. Not if it breaks her._

So he'd have to start following the Ladyblog and the news to avoid any more akuma attacks, to avoid her. He didn't think he could bring himself to read the Buzz On Queen Bee. Not yet. And maybe not ever.

Because if he couldn't pull himself away for her own good when he was this close to her, he didn't deserve to even read about her.

She looked behind her cautiously—she was thinking of leaving—but she turned back around, putting a hand on her hip. "You're disappointed." Her stance was casual enough, but her eyes were wary and guarded.

"What?"

"That I'm Queen Bee." She sounded sadder than he'd ever heard her sound. "You liked her, but when you found out she was me, you ran."

He took a deep breath. Was that what it looked like to her? Was it possible she really wanted him to stay?

"I didn't run." He tilted his head. "I didn't mean to. I thought..."

But he didn't finish.

Instead he stepped towards her, and they were suddenly standing face to face, only inches away.

He reached to touch her, brushing his thumb along her jaw then curling a stray lock of hair with his finger. If she had known there had been a stray lock of hair, he was sure she wouldn't be standing in front of him any longer. He watched the color rise in her cheeks as he pushed the hair back behind her ear, but she didn't pull away, so he got closer still.

He pressed his forehead against hers, feeling the shaky breath she drew in as her eyes closed.

He had never been an impulsive person; he always thought things through, then re-thought them through again and again until he knew every detail, every option, every second. But he wasn't himself now. Standing so near her, he was better. He was what he'd always dreamed of being.

He was Super Nathan.

So he didn't have to think this through. Even if he did, it would always come back to her, to what he really wanted.

He wanted to close the space between them. No matter how his mind spun it, he knew he'd ultimately return to that.

Right then and there, he didn't have to think thrice or twice or even once. He could be impulsive. He could kiss her knowing there was absolutely no other option—nothing else he wanted to do in that moment.

So he did. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her.

She was hesitant at first, but when he pressed his hands into her back, she melted into him and kissed him back.

He'd dreamed about this—kissing Queen Bee—but knowing Chloe was behind the mask made it sweeter than he ever could have imagined.

The flash of light pulled her away from the kiss—from him—and he let her go, afraid to ask too much. Chloe's face stared back at him, shock and a hint of embarrassment written in her features. "I-I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, suddenly shy. She really hadn't done anything; _he_ had instigated it, and he wasn't the least bit sorry. "I should go."

But she didn't move, and he took it as a good omen—one they both deserved.

"You don't have to go." He gulped down his nervousness. He'd never said such serious things to anyone before. He was always so shy—where was Super Nathan now?—but he forced it out of his throat anyway; she needed to know. "You can stay here. With me."

She raised her startled blue eyes to him—eyes that were overflowing with questions and fears that cascaded down her cheeks in tears.

He pulled her into a hug, partly because he wanted to hold her close, partly because he wanted to comfort her, and partly because he knew she didn't want to be seen crying.

"Why are you even still here?" she murmured into his shoulder.

He couldn't answer that. Not out loud. Not yet.

Instead he turned it around on her. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

He had never really known. He knew she was hurting—why would anyone be so mean otherwise?—but he didn't know specifically why. He'd assumed it had something to do with her mother, but he didn't know how to ask without making her close up on him again.

He felt her cringe against him at his words. "Maybe," she said finally. "But not today."

He smiled. "I thought so."

She leaned back and smiled up at him in return. "I don't know how you do it, but you always make me feel better." He hadn't realized until now, but this entire time he was somehow healing the wounds in her heart that had been left unattended her whole life. "I guess I've got no experience, though. I'm always the one causing pain." She winced. "I guess I should apologize for that."

He shook his head. "It's okay. You didn't mean it." His hand slithered into the one resting on his chest. "Not all the time."

"No." She shrugged. "But some of the time I did."

"Everyone has bad days."

She pursed her lips at him, and it took all his strength not to tackle her and kiss her again. She needed him now to listen, and once their lips touched, he knew his mind would be far, far up in the clouds.

"You're too nice to me and you know it."

He bit his lip to keep from leaning in again. "You deserve it a lot more than you think."

Chloe pulled back, untangling herself from him and his body went cold from the lack of her warmth, from the tight expression on her face. "I'm not who you think I am. I can't be that person."

Nathanael frowned. "You already are."

"No," she negated. "I'm really not."

He had said the wrong thing—he knew that now—but he didn't know if he could fix it by continuing to talk.

He wouldn't give up, though. He had to try.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched ever so slightly that he wondered if she'd pull away; she didn't—not yet at least. "You're Queen Bee, and she helps people." Couldn't she see that she already wasn't controlled by the pain she felt, that she was already a good person? " _You_ help people." He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, hoping to make sure she wouldn't run away from him again. "No matter what you think about yourself, there are people who care about you."

"People?" she asked in unbelief.

Nathanael couldn't keep the smile off his face. "At least one that I can think of."

She inhaled until he thought she might explode, then let the air out slowly. "I want to be the girl you think I am." She nodded. "I'll need your help though."

"I'll be happy to help."

She nodded again, still thinking it through in her head. "And I need you. Just in general."

He smiled. "I like that."

Chloe gave him a small smirk, somewhat returned to her normal, sassy self. "Of course you do."

"I like _you_."

She wore a smug look on her face now, but the laughter in her eyes held no haughtiness. "Of course you do."


	6. Chapter 6: Thrown Into Reverse

It was a typical day in Paris when Nathanael found himself attacked by an akumatized victim. Usually he would have worried, but with four superheroes keeping Paris safe, he could relax a bit knowing that maybe Queen Bee would rescue him.

He wasn't overly-obsessed with her. He liked to think he was the right amount of obsessed, and that his sketchbook dedicated to her was really just fan art, but deep down, he knew better. He knew he was head-over-heels for the superhero. And he didn't mind the fact that she was unattainable—how long had he obsessed over Marinette who had seemed just as unattainable?—he just wished he'd fall in love with someone who wasn't so out of reach.

She came for him pretty quickly, saving him in one fell swoop, and the akuma was purified not long after.

I hate that I love you, he thought, stepping closer to her. He wished he had said it out loud—maybe it would have been more effective, because there was no way that he believed it when it was just in his head—but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the way she moved.

—

Chloe saw Nathanael's sketchbook the next day at school, full of doodles and comics of Queen Bee.

At first, she didn't know what to think. He may have just been tired of drawing Ladybug and Chat Noir and Marinette, but when she asked him about it, his blush told her more than she needed to know.

"You shouldn't be drawing her and you shouldn't be in love with her."

Nathanael flushed as red as his hair. "I-I'm not—" But she cut him off before he could lie to her—lie to himself.

"I just don't trust her, Nath. You should be more careful."

"What has she ever done to you?" he asked. "Besides, she helps save Paris everyday. How can you not trust her?"

"I just don't," she snapped. "You'd be better off if you'd just listen to me." You'd be better off without me.

"Find some proof that she's untrustworthy," he mumbled. "Then I'll listen to what you have to say."

Chloe had proof alright—proof she was the worst person he could've possibly fallen in love with—but there was no way she could tell him without revealing her identity. The one thing she could do was try to scare him away.

—

Queen Bee jumped from building to building, making her way towards Nathanael's window. If her plan worked, she could have him believing Chloe and he'd go back to avoiding everyone. If it didn't…

…then she'd have to try harder. She wasn't just going to give up on trying to push him away.

It was for his safety, after all.

She tapped on his window, and a surprised Nathanael opened it without a word. She slipped inside—she really should've figured out what to say beforehand, because Nathanael's excitedly stunned stare wasn't helping.

She swallowed the unwillingness in her throat and turned to him, fixing her best glare on him. "Who do you think you are?" She watched him gulp in sudden fear. "I save you and you think you can be obsessed with me? That's not how this works."

"I-I didn't mean to make you angry," he whispered.

"Oh I'm angry!" she snorted. I'm angry I'm not good enough for you. I hate that I love you. "You're not the only person I've saved, okay? So don't think that makes you special or something, because it doesn't. You're not special. You're nothing. I hate you."

And she leapt through the window before she could see him cry—before he could see her cry.

Because she didn't think that at all. In fact, those were the biggest lies she'd ever told. Nathanael was special. He was the best person she knew.

And that's why she had to break his heart.

—

Adrien found Chloe in Miss Bustier's classroom the next morning, sliding into the seat next to her without permission. "You told Nathanael you hated him?" he whispered, despite the fact they were alone.

She started to wonder how he knew, but with Alya on the team now, it would be almost impossible to hide anything from her partners. "What do you mean? Queen Bee told him she hated him, not me." She almost laughed at her own joke—their identities hadn't been secret in a long time.

Adrien did not look amused. "Why?"

"Because it was easier than telling him the truth," she snapped. She really did not want to talk about Nathanael. Not with Adrien. Not today—not ever. But she knew he wouldn't leave her alone. "It's easier than telling him I'm in love with him."

His eyes widened; apparently it was a surprise to him that she hadn't denied it. "So you're scared...of being with Nathanael?"

"I wasn't meant to be loved. Especially not by him."

He entered the room then, and she and Adrien looked down, but he walked over to them anyway. "Chloe?" His eyes were red and his voice was fragile. "Can I talk to you?" He glanced at Adrien, who didn't need a second hint to leave Chloe behind. Nathanael slid into the seat beside her. "You were right," he said mournfully.

"What?"

"Queen Bee can't be trusted. I shouldn't have fallen in love with her."

Of course I was right. Of course she can't be trusted. Of course you shouldn't have fallen in love with her. Any of these would have been the appropriate response, but Nathanael was already so sad, Chloe didn't think she could break him. She caught Adrien's eye over Nathanael's shoulder. His eyebrows were raised expectantly, no hint of helping her in the casual shrug he threw her.

She could almost hear it: You got yourself into this. You can get yourself out.

Adrien slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

—

Chloe sighed beside him and Nathanael's heart twisted in response. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, he realized. She just wanted to help him get out before it was too late—before he was in too deep.

He couldn't help feeling grateful. Despite all her flaws, Chloe really was a good person, but he'd always thought differently. He'd judged her inaccurately.

"Thank you," he whispered, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "I think if you had told me any later, it would've been too late. So thank you for stopping me before I had another Marinette incident."

Chloe stiffened under his touch, then hesitantly put a hand on his back. "You should really learn to fall in love with people who can love you back."

He knew she meant someone else, but he heard the twinge of sadness in her voice and almost thought she could have been talking about herself.

No, she loves that she hates me too much to hate that she loves me.


	7. Chapter 7: Mechanical Me

**AN: I picked a steampunk AU for day 7 where Nathanael is an inventor who's trying to put souls into automatons using dark magic.**

Chloe remembers dying very vividly—the sunlight that came from the window fading as she lost consciousness; the loss of pressure and feeling in her body as she moved on; the blackness as it overtook her soul. She remembers waking up as a blur—the red-headed man leaning over her; the blinding stars behind her eyes; the inhuman absence of any sensation. She couldn't keep her eyes open long, and they slowly slid shut, but she felt nothing.

—

The next time she opened her eyes, she woke with a start, her mind clearer—stable.

The red-haired man sat hunched over a long wooden desk in the corner opposite of her in the dim, cramped room—the gray stone walls felt too close for Chloe. Scraps of metal and pieces of machinery were strewn around him, falling from the desk or his lap or hands. A jar sat next to his moving hands. Chloe couldn't see what was in it—if it was liquid or a colored gas—but the man kept glancing at it as if it held the answers to all the world's questions.

She tried to move, feeling very confined and trapped in... _did I sleep standing up?_ Her limbs wouldn't work with her, and every time she tried to move, a shooting pain spread throughout her body.

She was making noise though.

She could tell by the way the man turned his attention towards her, surprise and excitement written on his face.

 _What happened to me?_ she tried to say. _Where am I? Is this what comes after life_ — _after everything?_ Then the more important question sprang from her mouth before she could stop it. _Is this the hell I was bound for?_

When the man spoke to her, his voice was richer and more alive than she'd ever felt before. "Hold on, hold on. I'm coming." He stood up, brushing his hands on the leather apron he wore around his waist, and came toward her. His eyes roamed her body, then he turned toward a machine next to her, fiddled with the knobs, and turned back. "How's that?"

"Where am I?" The words were strangled, rough from the disuse of her throat, which burned in response to the air being forced out of it.

The man stepped back, a confused look on his face. "You can speak?"

She nodded, hoping her body would respond so she wouldn't have to endure the scorching in her throat once more, but her head wailed in protest, a sharp pang in the back of her neck. She cried out automatically, the singeing of her throat nothing compared to the stab at the base of her skull.

The man moved immediately toward the machine at her side, fiddling with more knobs and cranks. "Hold still," he whispered.

Chloe froze in response, biting back her pleas of protest.

She watched the man work, moving from the table in the center of the room to the desk in the corner. He was looking for something—or looking _at_ something. He came toward her then and reached behind her to get something, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye when they were only inches away.

He pulled back all too quickly and stood up straight. "Better?"

Chloe put a hand to her forehead— _she actually moved_ —and nodded. "Much better," she said, her voice no longer coming out as acid. But when she pulled her hand away from her head, she recoiled further into the corner. "What is this?" Her hand wasn't flesh and bone. It was metal and gears. "What happened to me?"

But he didn't answer her question; he only looked more intently into her face—if she even had one anymore. "I'm Nathanael Kurtzberg. Who are you?"

She struggled to remember her past, but all she could think of was how much she hated herself, hated this _Chloe_ person in her head. "I think my name is Chloe."

His face went pale and slack. "Chloe Bourgeois?"

Something clicked in her brain. "That's right," she said, solemnly nodding. She was definitely Chloe Bourgeois, but she didn't want to be.

"Oh." He bowed his head, pain and anger written in his features.

She felt her own face fall. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at her through his lashes, his teeth kneading into his lower lip. "I didn't intend for this to happen—you must know that."

"You did this?" she asked with unbelief.

Nathanael nodded, a grave expression taking over his features. "I'm an inventor, you see." He turned and moved toward the jar that sat on his desk. "I've been experimenting with putting souls into automatons using dark magic." He returned to her, placing the jar in front of her on the tabletop beside him. "I was testing it out on these guys." He gestured to the jar between them, and Chloe realized it was full of dead bees and a dark substance that only could've been the magic Nathanael was referring to.

 _Bees_ , she wondered, awed.

"It was supposed to be one of them that went into that machine, not you." He exhaled slowly, his next words soft and low. "I heard about your death; that's how I guessed it was you. Believe me, I never meant to hurt anybody. I only wanted to—" He ran a shaky hand through his bright hair, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

Why didn't it matter? It mattered to her. He was the only thing she knew besides her name.

"Unfortunately you're stuck like this. I can't do anything more to help you." Nathanael took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't supposed to be _you_." The way he said 'you' sounded more like he was talking about another person rather than the bees.

 _Who did you lose?_ she wondered. _Who were you trying to save?_

He shook his head again. "You said you _thought_ your name was Chloe. Are you having a hard time with your memories?"

"Yes," she nodded, finally voicing her thoughts. "I can't remember anything about my life." And she _would_ voice her thoughts. "I don't know that I want to."

"I'll see what I can do." Nathanael gave her a concerned look, but turned away without asking anything and Chloe was grateful to this new, suddenly important, person. Even if she wanted to tell him, she couldn't; she had no idea why she hated herself, she just knew that she did.


End file.
